


anything you want to (do it)

by hoppnhorn



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Dry Orgasm, Emotional Manipulation, Extremely Dubious Consent, Gay Billy Hargrove, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Imposter, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Possession, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sort of? - Freeform, Tentacle Sex, Unrequited Love, doppleganger, possessed Billy Hargrove
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 07:11:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19825120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoppnhorn/pseuds/hoppnhorn
Summary: “Oh, Billy.” The thing says, with a voice somocking, Billy snaps his own mouth shut in fear he’d spoken aloud. “Is this love?”





	anything you want to (do it)

**Author's Note:**

> please heed the tags, I'm not kidding when I say this is fairly off the beaten path for me in terms of consent. i was inspired [by this piece](https://lowlifesymptoms.tumblr.com/post/186249630990/the-doppelg%C3%A4nger-kink-is-hitting-hard) by [@lowlifesymptoms](https://lowlifesymptoms.tumblr.com/)

He can’t sleep.

He’d try to count sheep but sleep really hadn’t been the plan  _ anyway _ \-- he doesn’t think he’d be able to sleep after what happened. After all the things he’d seen. 

Billy had more or less gone from sitting silently in his car to lying silently in bed with the hope that  _ maybe _ he’d work through whatever bad trip he’d been on. Then tomorrow he’s going to hunt down the kid that sold him that shitty weed and beat him until he spills  _ what the actual fuck _ he’d laced the stuff with. 

That’s the only explanation for the shit that he’s seen. 

The rats and the warehouse and the  _ thing _ living under it. The shadow that had reached into his fucking mind and held tight. 

That’s one hell of a bad trip for a joint. 

At least, that’s what he keeps saying to himself as he stares at the ceiling of his bedroom, his body starting to sweat from the breeze coming through the window. It’s not  _ hot _ . He knows because he’d looked at the thermostat on the back of the house and it’d read 64 degrees. 

But he’s sweating like he’s right under the sun, baking at 95 degrees in the thick of summer.

He’s sweating in a pair of boxers and nothing else, wondering when the hell he’d became such a fucking  _ lunatic _ . Shaking in bed like a kid, afraid to shut his eyes because of  _ monsters _ . 

It doesn’t matter though. The monsters can still get to him, even when he’s awake. 

“Oh, Billy.” A familiar voice coos at him, cold tendrils sliding down his side. He flinches, shuts his eyes, and prays that the hallucination passes. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

When he dares to look, the  _ thing _ is leaning over him, a smile across its face. 

_ His _ face. The same as in the road, himself only in perfect form. Not sweating in his underwear, but luminous in the low light, neat and clean. Not a hair out of place.

Billy swallows down thick saliva as his own smirk stares back at him, lips upturned in glee.

“This is a nice room.” The thing says, standing up straight to look up at Billy’s posters. His makeshift crate furniture, sparse decor and the blanket serving as a curtain over his window. It’s a  _ heap _ but the thing perusing his room isn’t actually being nice. It’s toying with him, worming its way deeper into his thoughts. 

He knows, because he can  _ feel it _ . 

“Leave me alone.” He hisses, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes.

“Ha.” The thing sits on his bed, bounces a little, then claps hard palms on denim-covered knees. The sound is  _ loud _ in the silent house and Billy jumps upright, scrambling like he’s going to do something to  _ quiet _ the intruder. But with one look, the monster pins him in place, like he’s nothing more than a toy. Something amusing. “You’re never alone, Billy. Not anymore.”

His shadow-self flexes, moves gracefully to stretch out over Billy’s body until they’re eye to eye, nose to nose. “Let me in, Billy.”

“No.” He says in defiance. 

“How about now?” The thing says, and then suddenly it’s not his face taunting him. 

It’s  _ Harrington’s _ . 

Steve’s big, brown eyes and thick hair and stupid, pouty lips. All in high definition, staring down at him. 

Billy sucks in a breath, his heart bucking  _ wildly _ in his chest, and the face above him  _ grins _ . 

“Happy to see me, Hargrove?” Steve’s voice teases, his playful tenor giving Billy chills. It  _ sounds _ like Steve and it sure as hell  _ looks _ like Steve.

But he knows a lie when he sees one. 

“Don’t think of it as a lie.” The monster says with Steve’s beautiful mouth, licking back and forth over a plush bottom lip as hooded eyes gaze down. “Think of it as an  _ incentive _ .” 

“Stop.” Billy whispers, his body responding contrary to his words. There’s no fighting the arousal in his veins, forcefully hardening his cock. “You’re not him.” 

“I can be.” The thing says, fingers teasing at the hem of his boxers, flirting with the tender skin of his thighs. “I can be anyone you want.”

“You’re  _ not him _ .” Billy hisses. But the thing winks at him, gives him a goofy laugh, and something inside Billy’s chest  _ squeezes.  _

“But you _like_ this.” Steve’s voice coos, his long fingers tracing the tented outline of Billy’s cock. It leaps towards his touch. _Willing_. “I’ve seen what you want, and you _want_ _this_.” 

“I want  _ nothing _ from you.” Billy says, this time with  _ anger  _ in his throat, clawing up the inside. “You’re not  _ him _ .”

The monster blinks at him, contemplative, then shimmies down the length of Billy’s body until its face is level with the tip of Billy’s cock. It kicks feebly under his boxers, a damp spot growing at the head. 

“You don’t want Steve Harrington to suck your cock?” It asks and then it presses an open mouth to Billy’s dick, mouthing at it through wet cotton. His cry is tortured and wanting, his hips lifting of their own volition, asking for  _ more _ . “You don’t want this?” Steve’s deft fingers pull away his underwear in a swift second, his cock freed and exposed against his belly for Billy to see -- for Steve to softly stroke and encircle with his fist. His throat clicks as he moans, reaching for Steve’s perfect face, his parted lips, humping into a soft palm.

Billy nearly sobs when Steve smiles at him, looking almost  _ sweet _ . 

But it’s enough. It’s enough to jolt him back to reality -- the reality where Steve Harrington  _ hates _ him, and would never smile at him like that. Would never  _ touch _ him like that. 

“No.” He croaks, broken, and the monster above him grins.  _ Delighted _ . 

“No?” 

Then it changes, mercifully, Billy’s own face reappearing where Harrington’s had once been. And he whimpers with relief -- not because he wants to be staring down his own  _ mug _ while his cock throbs with bliss, but it’s not  _ Steve’s _ . 

It’s not going to break his heart. 

“Oh, Billy.” The thing says, with a voice so  _ mocking _ , Billy snaps his own mouth shut in fear he’d spoken aloud. “Is this love?” But grip around his dick tightens, makes him keen against the comforter until he’s shaking from exertion. 

“Fuck you.” He whispers, his breath barely filling his lungs as he humps up from the mattress.

“I think it is.” The monster purrs, lowering until Billy can feel a tongue at his nipple, circling and circling until the thing takes the pebbled tip between its teeth.  _ Tugs _ . 

“Shit shit  _ shit _ .” Billy hisses, clamping his eyes shut to ward off the  _ picture _ of his own mouth sucking at his nipple. His own hands sticky with come and getting him so fucking  _ hard _ he feels dizzy with it. 

“I think you love that pretty boy.” The monster continues, pressing a cold kiss to Billy’s stomach. Then his hip. “I think you’ve loved him for a long time.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Is that why you felt  _ pain _ when you see his face?” The thing adds. The hand on his cock abruptly stops, strangling the end of his dick until the head is nearly purple. Billy cries out, squirming on the bed as he watches his own tongue flick out and lap at the fluid on his shining cock. The monster  _ tastes _ him, swallows it down with a wicked smile. “You want this with  _ him _ , don’t you?” 

Billy fights off the images in his mind, the same ones he’s pulled from his memories numerous times when he’d needed something to get himself off. To get him good and riled when he was alone and had the time to _take_ _his time_. 

Images of Steve in the shower, his cock limp and still fucking _ big  _ at his hips -- day dreams of Steve fucking him against the tile, holding him up against the wall with strong arms. He dreams of Steve taking him hard, smacking their bodies together until Billy’s back is  _ aching _ from the unforgiving surface. He wants Harrington so deep inside him he can feel him in his  _ throat _ . 

“Interesting.” The monster purrs and Billy gasps, kicking on the bedspread as he fights off the overwhelming urge to give into fantasy.

“Get the fuck out of my head!” He says, a little too dazed to sound threatening, and the thing above him laughs. 

“Too late for that, sweetheart.” It growls, then parts his thighs with hands that are too cold. Too  _ rough _ . “I’m already a part of you.”

A cool press against Billy’s ass is all the warning he gets before his hole is penetrated by a dry finger, pried open without any sort of preamble. 

_ “Fuck!”  _ He shouts. But the thing doesn’t let up. In fact, what feels like one finger goes as thick as two, moving in rhythmic waves against tense muscles. 

“You crave him, yet you feel such  _ shame _ .” The monster snarls in Billy’s face. “Such  _ agony _ , wanting some boy that  _ hates _ you.” 

The thing inside him expands, no longer one finger or two. Or fingers at all. Billy arches off the bed, his ears ringing with a mixture of pleasure and pain while the rhythm speeds. 

“You  _ hate _ yourself for wanting this.” The thing fucks him hard, the thrusts to his prostate sharp and  _ mean  _ as it kisses at Billy’s throat, jerks his cock in time. “You hate yourself for being a  _ faggot _ .” 

The monster wrenches pictures from his head. His father, grabbing him by the hair to drag him to his room. His father, slapping him so hard his lip splits and blood drips onto his shirt. His father hissing in his face. One word. 

_ Faggot _ . 

“Stop.” He whimpers, snot and tears running down his cheeks as the thing in his ass fills him to the brim. His body  _ shakes _ , his balls tight and burning with the need for release. “ _ Please _ .” 

“Show me what I want.” His own voice growls into his ear. “Show me  _ everything _ .” 

Bright pleasure rips through his body and Billy goes rigid on the bed, his body pulled taunt enough to snap and the shadow consumes him. It dives into his mind, swallowing up all his pain, all his happiness, all of what he’s  _ done _ . His wishes. His failures. His fears. 

It takes them all and groans in his ear like a lover satisfied. 

“Good.” It moans, milking Billy’s cock as it weakly twitches in finality. Dry, as if his orgasm hadn’t happened at all. “So good.” 

Billy looks up at the ceiling, stares at the stain from a leak in the roof. Counts the rings. 

_ One...two...three.  _

Like counting sheep.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> find me [@hoppnhorn](https://hoppnhorn.tumblr.com)


End file.
